


Daddy Dearest

by 11_RedQueen_04



Series: Some F.A.C.E. Family Goodness [3]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Bad Cooking, Comedy, FACE Family, Family Dinners, Family Drama, Father England (Hetalia), France Deserves an Award, France is so done with his family, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Overprotective England, Secret Relationship, Sword Instead of a Shotgun, Why Did I Write This?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:22:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25641256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/11_RedQueen_04/pseuds/11_RedQueen_04
Summary: The "pass the salt, Daddy" au, Rusame version. Cause why not?
Relationships: America/Russia (Hetalia), England/France (Hetalia), implied Canada/Prussia
Series: Some F.A.C.E. Family Goodness [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1768261
Comments: 13
Kudos: 93





	Daddy Dearest

The steady ticking of the ancient grandfather clock mixes with the scrape of Alfred's fork against his plate as he awkwardly plays with his food. Despite this, the overwhelming silence prevails, as does Arthur's glare and Francis' grimace.

Matthew chews on his shrimp as quietly as possible, trying to avoid any type of visual contact. He looks down when he feels Mr. Kumajirou pull on his pant leg, pointing at his open mouth. Canada smiles and picks up the bear, settling him on his lap and allowing him to eat from his plate.

England opens his mouth to protest, but stops when he feels France's hand on his arm. Arthur settles his open mouth into a scowl and begins drumming his fingers against the table, eyeing Alfred and Ivan expectantly.

Ivan sits quietly, his creepy, childish smile as present as ever. He knits away without a worry, the red scarf draping over the table. Alfred lifts his gaze and meets his papa's, the latter gives him an encouraging nod.

America twitches his lips and swallows audibly under his dad's smoldering, green eyes. He pokes and prods at his food again, almost feeling bad for how butchered his shrimps are now.

Many agonizing minutes pass by in perpetual silence, each second feeling like a heavy boulder weighing down on all five nations occupying the table. Alfred makes a face at the odd flavor of his food and asks himself why he ever considered his dad's cooking to be the best in the world.

 _'A bit of salt will probably give_ _it_ _some flavor.'_ America hopes.

Alfred clears his throat and carefully wipes his lips with a napkin. He casually settles the blue cloth on the table beside his plate.

"Pass the salt, daddy."

As soon as the words leave his mouth, he wants to take them back. And Canada has a similar reaction, for he begins choking on his wine.

"Oh, lamb." Arthur smiles warmly. "It's 'can you please pass-" his lesson is interrupted when he realizes that another hand is reaching for the salt as well.

A bigger, paler hand.

Russia's hand.

England's left eye twitches and France looks surprised and unsurprised at the same time. Russia just smiles wider.

"Here it is, Fedya." The russian says as he gives Alfred the salt.

Arthur's jaws clatter from how tightly pressed he has them. His hand glides over the table towards the knife beside his plate, gripping it tightly.

Alfred ignores the condiment and stands slowly. "Maybe we should- I think it would be wise for us to-" he tugs desperately at Russia's shoulder, pulling him to his feet. "Leave." America gives his parents a nervous smile and turns to leave, pushing Ivan in front him.

"Alfred."

Said nation winces, and slowly turns towards his father.

"Sit down." Arthur grips his knife until his knuckles turn white.

"Dad, I." He stops. _"Please."_ Alfred pleads quietly.

"Sit. Down. Please."

America does as he's told, because even though he became independent 240-something years ago and he's way taller (and stronger) than Arthur, he can't help but feel like a naughty child standing before his disappointed father.

"Arthur, _mon petit lapin,_ let's think things through." Francis says, trying to pacify his irate husband. "I'm sure it was just a slip of the tongue. _Oui!_ That's all there is to it!" He chuckles nervously.

Arthur grinds his teeth together but manages to calm his rage, putting down his eating utensil. His emerald green eyes still boring holes into Russia, who doesn't look concerned or scared at all.

Once again, silence fills the table. Only this time, it's denser, the literal calm before the storm.

"Daddy." America whimpers, glancing at England.

"Da, _kotyonok?"_ Ivan pipes in, placing a hand on Alfred's upper thigh, almost on his crotch.

America winces, Francis gapes, Canada can't decide if to beat up Russia with his hockey stick or call an ambulance for him after his dad is done with him, and England splinters the table from gripping it too hard.

"That's it!" Arthur exclaims, throwing his chair against the wall when he stands. "I'm going to bloody kill you, you bellend!" His eyes burn with an inconceivable rage as he stomps towards the giant of a nation.

Russia smiles up at him nonchalantly. "Need something, Comrade?"

England shifts his gaze from Russia to the ancient yet sharp sword that hangs on the wall. He looks at Ivan again and then at the deadly weapon. Arthur doesn't think twice about it, he lunges for it and then charges at the Slavic nation when the blade is in his grasp.

Alfred gasps and pulls Ivan out of the way just in time. They land on the floor in a tangle of limbs, Russia on top of America. The wheat-blond removes the ash-blond from on top him, setting his lips into a tight line as he stands protectively in front of his Russian boyfriend.

"How dare you defile my son?" England snarls, an almost demonic aura emitting from him. "Get out of the way, lamb. I do not wish to harm you." His voice becomes gentler and his eyes soften for a second.

America shakes his head. "I won't, not until you promise not to hurt him." He looks towards France. "Papa, please?"

France sighs and stands, he grabs England's shoulder. "Arthur please, you're overreacting. Calm yourself!" He extends his hand towards the sword.

"No! That bastard stole our baby's innocence. I will not let that go by unpunished!" He readies the sword again.

Francis curses underneath his breath in French. "Arthur give me that sword!" He demands.

"No, I will torture him. Make him wish he had never placed his mangy, little, communist hands on our son."

"Arthur Kirkland give me that sword! At once!" France is scowling now, he pulls at England's ear as he reaches for the sword.

"Shove off, Frog!" Arthur tries to push him off but Francis doesn't budge. "I'm the United bloody Kingdom, nobody tells me what to do!" He shouts at the Frenchman. England turns to Russia. "I will paint the streets of your country with your blood. I will perch your head atop my fireplace for me to smile at everytime I drink my tea. I will-"

"I. WILL." a voice interrupts. "Only say it once more," Francis' eyes turn deadly and his voice becomes sharp. "hand me that sword or so help me God, Ivan de-flowering Alfred will be the least of your concerns." Arthur still won't obey. "I will make you sleep on the couch for the rest of the month. I mean it!"

"Ha! As if you could do that!" Arthur guffaws, relaxing as he turns towards his husband. "You wouldn't make it past one week without me, Frog!"

 _"Sacré bleu!"_ France exclaims dramatically. "Consider me offended, never has someone transgressed so greatly against me!" The blond places a hand over his head and pretends to shed a few tears.

Arthur rolls his eyes. "It's the truth. No self-respecting, cheese-eater, Frenchy can go one day without attacking someone's nether regions." He smirks at Francis, wagging his forefinger at him.

Francis shakes his head. "I could go years without sex, for your information. I can re-name myself Mr. Chastity Abstinence if I wanted to." His eyes find Alfred's behind England's bickering stature, he discreetly shifts them over to the door.

Alfred nods and stealthily drags a smiling Russia out the door.

"In fact, it is you who wouldn't be able to resist my hot body and sexy, manly hairs." A perverted gleam fills Francis' violet-colored eyes as he looks down at his sputtering husband. "Hon hon hon. I can already see you, groveling at my feet, begging me to touch you. To make your Big Ben a Small Sam. Hon hon hon!"

"You twat!" Arthur explodes, whacking Francis over the head. "Do not be so vulgar in front our son, Frog!" He admonishes whilst shaking his head and pointing at Matthew. "But I do disagree, Sir. I can have you writhing underneath me, begging for my touch." England inspects his nails, acting casual.

France licks his lips. "Is that so, _mon amour?"_ His eyes are drawn to the cocky curve of England's lips.

Arthur nods. "English gentlemen never fail to deliver, love." His cheeks are slightly tinted red and there's an equally perverted expression on his face.

"Prove it." Francis challenges, ardent love and desire swirling in his eyes.

Arthur smirks but refutes nothing. His arms wrap around Francis, hoisting him up against his chest bridal style. There's a glint of mirth and adoration lighting up his eyes as he looks down at Francis' blushing cheeks.

France squeals when he's carried, his arms wrapping around England's neck. He murmurs something in French that makes his partner grumble something 'mean' back. They make their way to the bedroom like that, bickering back and in forth in both English and French.

Canada sighs down at his plate, for once in his life glad to have been ignored. Maple, that's a big bullet he just dodged right there.

■THE END■

•OMAKE•

"At least we still have Matthew." Arthur sighs dejectedly, shoulders slouched as he pats his son affectionately.

Matthew gives him a sweet, innocent smile. "Of course, Daddy." He says softly, hugging Mr. Kumajirou tightly to his chest.

Arthur smiles at him and begins ruffling his hair when-

"What was that, _Bärchen?"_

Arthur's head snaps towards the voice at a speed faster than light and his face becomes something straight out of a horror movie when he recognizes who it is.

Matthew winces and Mr. Kumajirou cries out from the discomfort of being held too tight. _'Oh maple...'_ he screws his eyes tightly shut.

_"Merde!"_ Francis curses, already standing up to chase after his overprotective, sword-wielding, maniac of a husband.

▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪

《French》

Mon petit lapin ~ My little rabbit

Oui ~ Yes

Sacré bleu ~ A cry of surprise or happiness

Mon amour ~ My love

Merde ~ Shit 

《Russian》

Kotyonok ~ Kitten 

《German》 

Bärchen ~ Little Bear

**Author's Note:**

> Okay....this was gonna end way differently but then the ending kinda wrote itself so I couldn't really do anything about it. 
> 
> Once again, I'm so sorry for bad French translations. Feel free to correct me if I am wrong. 
> 
> Thank you for reading, I look forward to your reviews.


End file.
